


Letters to Oliver - Love Elio

by BLUEFICTION2



Category: Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Inspired by Call Me By Your Name, M/M, POV Elio Perlman, POV First Person, POV Oliver (Call Me By Your Name), Sad Elio Perlman, Sad Oliver (Call Me By Your Name)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BLUEFICTION2/pseuds/BLUEFICTION2
Summary: NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. Letters to Oliver - Love Elio Part 1

Letters to Oliver - Part 1  
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

These are his letters to Oliver.  
_____  
___

✏ Letters to Oliver - August 1983  
___  
_____  
_____

Dear Oliver,

I hope this finds you well.  
___

Fuck!  
___  
___

Dear Oliver,

I can't live without you.  
___

FUCK!  
___  
___

Dear Oliver,

Why haven't you written?  
___

FUUUUUCK!  
_____  
_____  
___

1\. ✏  
___

Oliver,

I sit here at my desk writing page after page, crumpling most, starting over - ever conscious that I not convey the desperation I feel. It's almost pathetic, the intensity of my feelings. 

But starting completely over seems like the answer to everything. It carries me past the darker times when I worry I won't remember and that in time I'll forget how magical we were.

But that's what I want to do with us. Start again at the very beginning. Watch you get out of that ugly green car, step into the dappled sun and know that within mere minutes I will be able to touch you. 

That first touch, never to be repeated, because it's like your river, ever changing, ever flowing. But once, just once I want that new feeling of what we had, with the realization that you felt it too. 

Because you did. And that alone makes all the difference in the world.  
___

I read the letter you sent my father. The one where you thanked him for his hospitality, telling him the experience changed you forever.

Did you mean that? Did I change you forever? Or did you mean in general? That what happened between us wasn't as life changing as the scenery or the solitude you found sitting on the balustrade night after night.

I can't think you meant that. Not after the berm. Not after my pathetic note and not after midnight. 

I don't think midnight will ever be the same.

The clock ticks, the hands move, and yet you're not here. 

I wait for you. Sit on my bed thinking you will be here. Your shirt wrapped around, your arms enfolding me. 

I can feel your breath as it tickles my neck. You lean down and whisper in my ear "mezzonotte" with your bad Italian accent. But all I hear is a promise. A promise you didn't make but that I imagine was in your heart.  
___

I have your letter tucked away with the blue shirt and all the memories that involves. My father handed it to me from where it sat atop all the other correspondence he gets. 

But this is special. It is from you. In your hand. 

So I hold the very paper you held. Press my fingertips to each word, each letter, and I can feel you. 

I feel the change of pressure on some words more than others and imagine you holding the pen, stopping to consider what to write next. That maybe you put the pen in your mouth, chewed it like a pencil, thinking, tapping the end on the paper.

I wish I had that pen. That you had included it - with a note to my father: 

[[ please give this to Elio ]].  
___  
___

I held your letter to the light looking for smudges - seeing where your fingers rested and resting my fingertips over yours. 

I'd like to say I didn't cry - but I did. I felt you coming right through the paper to my fingertips, up my arm to sneak back into my heart. 

It makes my heart hurt and swell both at the same time.

Other parts of my body hurt and swell as well. And I settle my fingertips over, rubbing lightly, and having the sensation of your smudges tingling through my fingertips, that those are the same fingertips that now touch my cock is frankly overwhelming.  
___  
___

Mafalda washed the sheets and our scent went away. Now they smell like soap and fresh air. Not you and me. 

But as I lay here on my covers, my head on that same pillow you used, I turn to push my face into the softness, and your scent still there under the linens - if I press deeply enough. 

My nose inhaling as my fingertips play with my cock. 

Your letter, close by so that I may see it, even out of the corner of my eye. Will you hold mine when you get it? Checking for evidence of my passion - of a stray hair trapped between leafs of paper, like the eyelash I found in yours. Something not intended but an unexpected present.

You know if you put it on your fingertip, make a wish and blow, it will come true. But then I'd have to scour the place to find it again. So I hold it between two fingers, my thumb and index, and make my wish there. 

You know what it is. What I wished for. And that if it comes true you have to come back. 

Then maybe some day I will be able to touch you again but having your letter is the next best thing. That and the shirt that you wore almost every day and graciously gifted me knowing how much it would mean - and now having this part of you makes it seem even more real.  
___

I scratch deeply into the paper as I write. Hoping you will do as I did and run your fingertips over my words, pressing on my letters. Maybe you could tell when I stopped to consider a word. When I had to think deeply about what I would write next. 

Some of this will never see the inside of an airplane, never wing it's way across an ocean to have you open and find how much I miss not having you here - how much I yearn, because I do. 

That yearning is what makes me and breaks me at the same time - it tells me that if I hurt, it must have been real - that if I yearn, that there was something to yearn for. 

I miss you. 

I miss you and I long for you and I've often wondered if you miss me too but I won't ask. I don't think I could bear it if you didn't. 

Elio  
_____  
_____

✏FIN - Part 1

_____


	2. Letters to Oliver - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.

Letters to Oliver - 2  
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

These are his letters to Oliver.

_____

Letters to Oliver - 2  
Love, Elio✏

_____

✏ Letters to Oliver - August 1983  
_____  
___

2\. ✏  
___

Dear Oliver, 

I hope this finds you well. I miss you and dreamed about you last night - falling asleep with your letter beside me and waking up in a panic because I couldn't find it - but it was right there - I'd rolled onto it as I slept - dreaming of you. 

Your hair was shining golden from the sun, your body glistening with droplets from the mountain stream that feeds into the berm - and you gave me the kind of look that says, I know you, I know what's in your heart, what's on your mind - and I know that because it's in my heart and on my mind too.

I go over every moment of that day, and every day you were here, with total amazement that something did come of it. 

That you felt it too. 

And that if it was wrong or wasn't meant to be - it wouldn't have mattered. But it did. It mattered to me and I have every reason to believe it mattered to you.

It mattered in the way you looked at me, the way you touched me, and the way you kissed me on that day. And you knew it too. 

What I remember most clearly was how everything changed after that. And it wasn't just the sex that happened later. It was you. It was me. 

I don't think I've experienced anything that has had a more clear divide in a way that, in that one moment I belonged solely to myself and the next I became a part of someone else, something bigger. 

[ Not with Marzia - not with anyone but you. ]

I've never seen myself through someone else's eyes before - watched them - knowing that what they're seeing of themselves is reflected in mine as well. 

You can tell I've been thinking about this a lot. 

I'm not ashamed to say that you've been constantly on my mind. 

What I hesitate to tell you is that I not only wish you had stayed longer but that I wanted to go home with you - wanted to be with you. 

And I now wonder if that's what you wanted too. I wonder if it had been within the realm of possibility - if it had crossed your mind - would you have asked?

I'd like to think you would. But you left - and that makes me very sad. 

Don't get me wrong and I hope you don't think I'm being too dramatic - my family thinks I've gone off the deep end and that I got too invested - but I wouldn't give up any of this just to make life easier. 

Because now that I know - it's like I've stepped over a line between who I used to be and who I've become.

I've changed. You've changed me. And I thank you for that.

And even though the ache is at times almost unbearable, I'm glad to take on that hurt because without the experience of our midnight rendezvous - fuck I love that word - I wouldn't have been able to really know you, hold on to not only your body but the memories we made as well.

I think before that, I only knew what you wanted me to see, but afterwards I saw a completely different side of you - not only what you showed others but who you were when you were completely alone with me.

Was that reality or something calculated too? I like to think it wasn't.  
___

The letter I wrote last night sits here on the desk waiting for me to have the courage to take it to the post. And so I sit writing another - and I suspect another tomorrow, and another the day after that.

I have a lot to tell you. But not all at once. I don't think I could do that - exposing myself like this to you - especially you - because although it can be therapeutic [ my mother's word ] - I also find myself confused and anxious. Not necessarily to the degree that I'll hide myself away forever - but I just can't do this, tell you this all in one letter.

Until tomorrow, 

Love, Elio.  
_____  
_____

✏FIN - 2 

_____


	3. Letters to Oliver - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.

Letters to Oliver - 3  
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

These are his letters to Oliver.  
_____  
_____

Letters to Oliver - 3  
Love, Elio✏  
_____

✏ Letters to Oliver - August 1983  
_____  
___

3\. ✏  
___

Dear Oliver,

I've had the courage to post my first letter and it's now on it's way across the ocean to your door. I did it first thing this morning before I chickened out. Before that little voice in my head that pipes up whenever I'm grappling with a decision, makes it exponentially harder, telling me to stop, go back, danger ahead - to take no chances because I will only get hurt. 

But I'm already hurt. And sending this to you will not make it any worse - I don't think it could ever get worse - because I know you and that you would never intentionally hurt me.

The letter from last night - along with this one when I finish - are sitting on my desk but will have to wait for another day. Sending them each week should do without seeming too desperate - but writing you every day has helped and I'm feeling much better now. It's like talking to you and that makes me very happy. You've made me very happy.

[ I may even put off mailing the next one until we get home - then I will have you there too. ]

But the first one is sent - there's no going back and taking this step is only marginally less than the giant leap I took into your bed.

This bed where I now sleep. And dream of you.  
___

I put the letter you wrote to my father back in it's envelope at bedtime - it's mine now - and because of that it's like saying good night to you. It makes me feel like you're here with me and you've gone back to your room - my room again. Only, it's a folded piece of paper housing another piece of paper, too precious to leave on its own. 

I read it every day, carefully unfolding, spreading it out to go over every word for the thousandth time. 

So on these days we are apart, my fingers will continue to press out the creases each morning - trying not to disturb the surface - trying to keep your smudges visible where I can still see them.

Because while I find being without you hard, having this part of you with me, somehow makes it easier. 

I used to think I couldn't live without you being here but that too is getting better - if you don't count all the times I've imagined you here anyway.

And that even extends outside my room. 

So as I lay out on our lawn - looking up - watching the clouds float by - I want to tell you about them. 

I want to lean up and kiss you and tell you of how each one resembles something else - of how they remind me of the balloon animals of my childhood. 

That what I make of them is not just a starry-eyed fantasy but something played out by a destiny more powerful than you or I.  
___

Don't laugh at me. I know when you're doing that.

I can hear you laugh - even now at what you might term as folly when I get all mushy [as my father says] about destiny and shit - I hear that deep resonating laugh that says I'm teetering towards insanity and to fucking snap out of it.

I then want to push you back on the lawn, feel the dew of the grass seep into our clothing, the morning light catch the droplets that cling to your hair, kiss you so deeply that there is no more laughter at my expense but a deep passion that neither if us can deny.

And I want to tell you that, in this daydream I'm having, there's no one around - no one to watch as we stip off our clothing - making love on the damp grass.

No one to notice my lips swollen from your kisses - of how I'm hard moments after you take me in your arms - rolling our bodies back and forth pressing down on the blades of grass as you press yourself into me.

And this is a slow and gentle fuck because we have all day in my dreams, we have all the time in the world because in this dream, there's no time limit, you stay forever and you never leave.  
___

It's strange how I've become so adept at hiding behind what comfort your continued presence brings. I've tried to not be so dependent on having you here but then you're back again and I have no desire to let you go.  
___

It's bedtime again and I'm starting the ritual I do every evening - touching your letter one last time before it goes back into the envelope, folding it and carefully pressing it in it's home for the night. 

Turning in - climbing under covers that no longer smell of you but of how I now imagine our scent. 

Of sunshine, damp grass, your eternal laughter, a cigarette or two, and us.

Good night dear Oliver, sleep well, and maybe you will dream of me.

Love, Elio.

ps: I'm mailing these last two letters tomorrow morning because I want them to arrive together. I want you to have me in your space. To fold this paper part of me up for the night, like you're saying good night. And in the morning I will be there to welcome you into your day. 

Yours always, Elio  
_____  
_____

✏FIN - 3.

_____


	4. Letters to Oliver - Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.

Letters to Oliver - 4  
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

These are his letters to Oliver.

____  
_____ 

Letters to Oliver 4  
Love, Elio✏ 

_____

✏ Letters to Oliver - August 1983  
_____  
___

4\. ✏

___

Oliver, we got it. Your package arrived - it's really here! 

My father received the galley proofs you sent, along with the picture they're going to use for the jacket. You look wonderful - very handsome [ le muvi star - as my mother says ] although it's with affection and lately some disappointment [ as she has told me ] - because she knows.

So that - along with the package you enclosed -  
______________________

Please give this to Elio  
______________________

\- made an ordinary day into an extraordinary one.

My heart almost exploded when my father handed it to me - unopened I might add.

I brought it up to my room to unwrap and just like the others, I will keep it here along with your letter to my father and of course your shirt.  
___

You sent me a pen. Your pen. The one you used while you were here. With a note explaining that you meant to give it to me before you left.

I have to tell you that I treasure your note as much as the pen enclosed.

The pen is beautiful and expensive and more than anything, a part of you.

And I will forever look at this pen and think of how much we mean to each other. Of how I asked in my previous letter - but never expected you to send one here - even before my missive ever got to you.

I asked you for the one you wrote my letters with - the one that scratched so deeply into the paper. The kind I imagined. A cheap plastic one, with a chewed end, and a cap that doesn't stay on anymore. 

But you sent me this. And I will cherish it forever - and am using it right now even as I write to you.  
___

This is our last full day in Italy, then we go home. But it won't really be home because you won't be there. 

I won't see you, at every turn. 

That out of the corner of my eye, I won't see you sitting on my bed, shoes off, shirt open, waiting.

These sightings bothered me at first, but now I stand in my doorway and wait for you to appear. 

A shadow that shows up - then slowly fades away. 

I'm never quite sure where or when you'll be there. 

But in reality you don't come to my room anymore - never stand at the window, or in the door to the bath, looking in from the other room, watching me sleep. 

And you don't crawl in to keep me warm on nights when no warmth is needed but the thought of warm parts of your body merging - entering- warm parts of mine are what gets me through my last days here.  
___

The balmy temperatures of August have given way to more crisp evenings where the arms of your shirt provide much needed comfort while I wait for you in my dreams.

Consequently I grapple with whether to bring it back with me, or leave it here where you live in my remembrances [ so it can keep that other-worldly part of you company until I return at Christmas ]. 

I can't wait for Christmas. I can't wait to see you again or at least hear your voice. 

Your voice that has now become music to soothe my consciousness, making my toes curl and my heart sing.  
___

So goodnight dear Oliver, I'm packed and leaving tomorrow. 

Will you keep my bed warm for me? Will you watch over the orchards, the pool, the balustrade and even the berm? Because I know you're there too, I've seen you. 

Will you be here when I return? 

Will you welcome me with open arms and your beautiful laugh? 

Will you hold me tight and whisper how much you love me in my ear as I weep softly into your shoulder? - Just as I do every night in my dreams - your shirt wrapped around wicking up my desolation that you're not longer here.

Your shirt is comforting and a part of you - and I wear it now - even as I write. 

I long for you and miss you terribly.

Until I see you again,

With deep affection, and so much love, 

Elio.  
_____  
_____

✏FIN - 4 

_____


	5. Letters to Oliver - Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.

Letters to Oliver - 5   
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

These are his letters to Oliver.

____  
_____ 

Letters to Oliver - 5  
Love, Elio✏  
_____

✏ Letters to Oliver - September 1983  
_____  
___

5\. ✏  
___

Dear Oliver,

I'm now home. Well our other home. The home where I am until we make our pilgrimage back to Moscazzano in December. 

This home without you. 

I've mailed my last letters from here, so they now have my new postmark and address - although you must know from your correspondence with my father.  
___

I've left you alone at the villa and I'm very sorry for that. I know you're in America but a part of you is still around and I like to think of you still being there. 

My arms gave Mafalda a special message as I hugged her goodbye - to look over you and keep you safe until I return in December. Anchise too - although I'd rather you keep your company to just Mafalda. She doesn't really hate you - she just loves me more. 

I wasn't going to write as soon as I got home, but I've decided I want you here too. In this room. A room you'll probably never visit but where I live for the time being. 

I'll be moving close to you next year, and I'm waiting to be on the same continent as you. In the same area. Somewhere we can run into each other - see each other.

But for now, I'm here until Christmas. 

Can you come and visit over the holidays? I know it's far but I can't wait to see you again. 

I know I've said that I miss you, but you have no idea how much.   
___

This first night will be the hardest - I'm afraid I won't dream of you here.

I'm afraid I won't see you around every corner. 

And I'm afraid I will start to forget.  
___

Please help me remember on those nights when you are so far away. 

I hate that I had to leave you there in my room - my old room - but I brought your shirt with me. It hangs on the back of my door over one of my posters. 

Those posters don't mean so much to me any more, and will never compete with having a part of you here.

Unpacking and having to accustom myself to this new - old space is strange but having my nightly ritual [ because it's become that ] is comforting.

I'm going to sleep in your shirt tonight and hope to dream of you. I don't think I can bear it if you don't appear - if you don't visit me here too.

I know this sounds like I'm not coping but I'm doing the best I can. I count the weeks [ too many ] until you come visit at Christmas. 

Your letters are on my desk - in envelopes that keep them safe. Your pen will have a lot of use because I intend to write you every day until I see you again. 

I'm excited because tomorrow I'm going to shop for a picture frame for your jacket photo - the tiny one from your application - too small to frame - has been usurped by this much more frame worthy one.

Then you can watch me while I sleep - and I can wake up to your face gazing over me.

I still miss you and can't wait to return to the villa where I hope to see you at every turn - and where I lost my heart to you. So while my heart still hurts, I'm glad to be able to say that it's an exquisite hurt. 

It reminds me of how much we meant to each other and if there's a time when that hurt diminishes, if I don't notice that wanting, that ache for your presence, then I will not be whole again.

I can only hope you're doing better than I am now. 

I love you and miss you and can't wait to see you again, 

But until then, 

Love, Elio  
_____  
_____

✏FIN - 5

_____


	6. Letters to Oliver - Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.

Letters to Oliver - 6  
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

These are his letters to Oliver.  
_____

Letters to Oliver - 6  
Love, Elio✏  
_____

✏ Letters to Oliver - September 1983  
_____  
___

6\. 📬  
___

Dear Elio,

I received your letters. Your beautifully poignant letters. And I too wish we had more time and that summer never ended.

You'll never know just how much I wish I could be getting out of that ugly green car right now - and starting over. And knowing what we know now would be wonderful. 

But that's not a possibility. 

I am here and you are there - probably hunched over your desk writing me yet another letter.

And no, you're not pathetic. And yes, you did change me forever - for midnight will never be the same for me either.

But you changed me in other ways as well, and taught me things about myself that I could never have grasped, even within the walls of the best Ivy League schools.

You taught me to stop and listen; to slow down and actually pay attention to the things that matter. To not put up barriers where no barriers are needed. And to accept another person (yes you!) into my life. And more importantly (on my side at least) let myself be accepted into theirs. 

You can't know how liberating that is. 

And how much it hurts me right now that I can't be over there, sitting on your bed at yet another midnight. For each midnight here is a heartbreaking reminder of how perfect that witching hour could be.

And we too were perfect, even for that short time. 

You taught me that (wonder of wonders) I don't actually know everything. That a formal education doesn't mean shit if you can't accept and respect the knowledge of others. 

To grow as a human being means opening not only your mind, but your heart as well. 

And you did that for me.

Did I ever tell you that? I would be remiss not to. 

Your family showed me many things as well.

They taught me that not all families are judgmental and elusive in their praise and acceptance as my own. 

That a parent can be supportive without decimating the character of their progeny; without having them doubt what is natural and true.

Because we were true.

We were good together and for each other. Never doubt that.

Never doubt that whatever path you choose follow, is yours alone, and no one elses. But you know that already and just as importantly, your family does too.

Not everyone has that.

You will do great things not because they are expected of you but because you expect them of yourself. 

And because your passion for what you do complements your talent, it will propel you to greater heights not only because you practice every day (although that's important too) but because you have a spark. 

That spark is often what people lack, or don't have the foresight to recognise; and it's that spark that will take you to the grandest concert halls, have you play the classics (and your own brilliant compositions), in a way only you can replicate, and have the balls to say fuck you to any who doubt your genius. 

And you are a fucking genius. 

Being told and receiving praise for that does not mean you can't also be humble and extraordinary at the same time. 

And you will have your time.

And I hope to someday be in that grand concert hall watching your extraordinary talent; the audience as transfixed and mesmerized as I was on that excruciatingly hot afternoon last summer.  
___

I'm busy these days at the university, and getting the last details of my book finished for publication over there has taken up much of my time - and considerable energy.

I've sent you something in with the galleys that I forgot to give you in Bergamo - another trip that I will never forget. 

The mail service here is paltry at best and I'm not sure when it will get to your father, but I hope you've already received it and I'm sorry if it wasn't the cheap Bic pen I'm using now. 

I might even have chewed it a bit while I was writing this letter and you're right the cap doesn't stay on.

I must say it was a culture shock getting back. Everything goes at a much faster pace that I have very little free time to even look for apricot juice. 

But it won't taste like Annella's, because I'm not at your breakfast table every morning, something I also greatly miss. And the people here don't seem to appreciate how their lives are lacking the refinement a properly soft boiled egg brings to the day. 

I've enjoyed reading your letters but worry about you.

So while writing to me every day is hugely flattering, life goes on, whether the people in it are happy or not; whether they feel they're able to continue on - or not - and whether their hearts are broken or not.

I hope you'll try to get out and see your friends, go swimming and enjoy your last few weeks of summer.

Because summer's never last. Not the way you want them to. 

But they will forever live in our hearts and in our memories.

Please say hello to your parents for me and try keep yourself busy until summer is over, because seasons change and there's no stopping the passage of time. 

I'm happy to say that my book will require me to travel, so a sojourn across the Italian countryside is not outside the realm of possibility. 

Be well and write whenever you feel like it.

Oliver 

ps: Longing can be a two way street. And yes I miss you too.   
_____  
_____

FIN - 6  
_____


	7. Letters to Oliver - Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.

Letters to Oliver - 7  
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

These are his letters to Oliver.  
_____

Letters to Oliver - 7  
Love, Elio✏  
_____  
_____

✏ Letters to Oliver - September 1983  
_____  
___

7.✏  
___

My dearest Oliver,

I'm sorry that I haven't written in awhile. I'm busy at school and the Hayden is almost finished. Practicing takes up a lot of my time and my parents are helping me choose between several schools and scholarships. 

I often wonder how you are doing - so far away - and the other part of you that's still back at the villa. 

It's been very different here without constant reminders of your presence. I don't see you around as much anymore and I'm not sure if that's necessarily something I easily can deal with.

It was a comfort having you show up at every turn - but now when I get into bed at night - your shirt hanging on my door - loneliness sets in and sleep is often harder to come by.

I want you to know I've been having more dreams about you - ones that wake me up at night. They're not pleasant dreams but ones where you can be seen fading away.

You're there in my dream, but when I reach out for you - try to touch you - you instantly disappear. Not like before, where you would stay close - moving around - but I could feel that you wanted to stay.

I don't always feel that anymore.   
___

Perhaps if you could write again - I know that you must be busy - but if you could write me here - putting my new address on the envelope, not like the one forwarded from the villa, it would help me feel that you know where I live. Where I am. 

It's like Père Noël or the Tooth Fairie or something like that - because when I was little, we travelled to a lot different places and I was always afraid they couldn't find me.

And I want you to be able to find me. 

I want to feel you around wherever I may be.

Je ne veut pas que tu m'oublie mon amour, je ne veut pas que notre amour meure. 

I don't want you to forget me my love, I don't want our love to die. 

Forever yours,  
Love, Elio  
____

ps: 

I've written an arrangement for you - made the Bach into something more and added some of my own. 

It reminds me of summer. Of watching you stride across the lawn. Of waiting past midnight to studying you as you passed by my room into your own.

Of droplets sliding over strong shoulders and stronger thighs as you ran through the water at Lake Garda.

These are the things that remind me of you and have become a personal symphony of us. 

Until I see you again, 

Love, Elio.  
_____  
_____  
___

✏FIN - 7

_____


	8. Letters to Oliver - Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.

Letters to Oliver - 8  
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

These are his letters to Oliver.  
_____

Letters to Oliver - 8  
Love, Elio✏  
_____

✏ Letters to Oliver - October 1983  
_____  
___

8.✏   
___

Dear Oliver,

I dreamed about you again last night, you were here in my room. Not all of you - I couldn't wish for that much - just your hand - we linked fingers as I slept. And when I woke up my hand was reaching out for you.  
___

It must be because I got your letter yesterday. 

I'm not keeping it with the others - your letter to my father and the note you sent me. This one's special. It sits next to your picture on the nightstand beside my bed.   
___

I wanted you to know, (oh how that sounds so familiar), that I still *want you to know*. Because I'm afraid you've forgotten that. 

And in the knowing - and the acknowledgment of the knowing - it proves that you still feel it too. That you still want me. 

Because these feelings I have will not go away.  
___

Looking at your picture every night and when I wake up in the morning is nothing at all like having you here. But it's a reminder an indication that everything that happened was REAL.

I hope there's never a day when I wake up, look at your face and you've become just another part of a wonderful summer.

I don't want the summer to take precedence over what we had.

I've already begun to refer to you in the past tense and I don't want that.

Maybe it's because I'm here now and we have no history for me to reminisce within this room. 

I don't understand why you can't tell me that you are not going away forever.

It would be comforting for me to have that - to know that when December comes, you will be boarding a flight back to Italy - back to the villa - and back to me.  
___

I'm finishing your letter this morning. I don't want you to think I'll die if I don't see you again - or that I'm dying at all. 

It's not that.

I promise you - it's not that.

I do have a life here. My mother, who's not so vigilant anymore, makes sure I have a good time with my friends - that I go out and not hide myself away in my room. 

But it's weird - or at least different coming back to people who don't know about you, haven't met you, and don't understand *why things matter*, or at least haven't the experiences that I've had. 

They say I seem different. That I've changed. 

No. Not that way! I know what you're thinking! 

It's just that I'm not who they knew me to be from last spring. But we all evolve, grow up, have different priorities. 

I'm sure there are friends just like me, but they haven't met their Oliver.

People would know. They would. 

How could they not? 

But their experiences haven't been extraordinary because that's what it was. Or was it just us? Were we different? 

And because everybody's unique - their experiences just as singular - it maybe they haven't yet met the one they want to be with for the rest of their lives - and who wants to be with them. I believe I have. 

Oliver, if only you could have stayed. 

Not that summer was longer - well that too - but what if I was older and we could have remained at the villa. Our own little world. 

Or speaking of the world - what if I went on tour and you met me in different cities. 

That would be just wonderful. 

Maybe that's what I will dream tonight. That we're not apart but that you're meeting me somewhere - or I'm meeting you. 

And maybe then all of you will appear in my dream. 

I'm going to think on that as I go about my day - conjure you up in places here - and in this room.

And maybe then - as I wrap your shirt around me - I will feel your arms - touch your body - kiss your lips. And before I wake up, maybe I will feel your lips on mine.

Have a wonderful day Oliver, think of me often and perhaps you will dream of me too.

For I am dreaming of you always, 

Love, Elio 

_____

✏ FIN - Letters 8

_____


	9. Letters to Oliver - Part 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.

Letters to Oliver - 9  
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

These are his letters to Oliver.  
_____

Letters to Oliver - 9  
Love, Elio✏  
_____

📬 Letters to Oliver - October 1983  
_____  
___

📬 9.  
___  
_____

Dearest Elio,

I've received your latest letters, and just the other day, the package you sent me.

The world will soon be privy to your talents and all the musical genius you've been favored. 

And as I have discovered; so will many others who will flock en mass into any venue you deem to command.

But you know this, how could you not? And so will the rest of the world one day.

I feel honored you've composed something so beautiful, and dedicated it in my name. And I don't believe a mix-tape has ever been made with more care. 

You, Bach, Liszt, Busoni, and the Furs! 

As well as the picture you've sent, along with a particularly cheap pen, chewed at the end, with a top that doesn't stay on. (That I will now have to reciprocate - sending you one of mine.)

I will treasure these items always and place them alongside the deeply passionate letters you've sent me. They're too precious to keep out and I wouldn't want to lose any of them.

As for your picture, I'm forever grateful it's wallet-sized as that's exactly where I shall keep it.  
___

Things are progressing quickly here and I don't know if a trip to Italy in December is in the cards.

I will try my best to make it happen, but I cannot promise anything.

I may also be moving soon, not far away, but into a house, instead of a lonely room within someone else's house. 

It will be a dream come true to put down roots. 

And it will give me the peace I crave - because after having the experience of living in the villa for six amazing weeks, and the encompassing grounds with their exceptional scenery - having a house with a yard is as close as I can get to replicating that.  
___

With my teaching job at the university assured, and the book doing well, having this security, and stability in my life has brought tranquility to my ever changing world.

I want to be happy and I want you to be happy too.

I think we will always be connected to each other, and hope that the part of me that still resides at the villa, remains an everlasting presence in your life (and will still appear to you within your dreams). 

As long as you continue to dream of me, I will be there for you.

Because I still dream of you. You're still there in my consciousness 

I can't deny that. 

I can't deny or ever forget the way we connected. It would be disingenuous to say it was not destiny, because what we had was fated - and had the ability to change both of our lives - and mine especially, for the better. 

To be so free with you and able to gift you with my heart - as you have gifted me with yours, has made every moment with you the best part of any life one could wish for. 

And nothing could communicate more clearly how much I cherish those lazy days back at your summertime table anticipating midnight.

And when the hands on the clock in my lonely room travel to meet at the very top, I look out towards the ocean, and from where I stand, hope that somehow across the miles and numerous time zones, you can feel me wanting you.

Perhaps that is what you sense within your dreams.

That hand reaching out - like on the beach at Lake Garda - has come to represent a connection as old as time.

But there are kept secrets that, although marvelous to remember, can also fracture one's heart. (I am getting maudlin - something I promised myself I would not do).

Suffice to say, I miss you too.  
___

I'm sitting here at a desk crammed between my lonely bed and a window that has no view of an ocean or a horizon - that if I look closely enough - can imagine the tree strewn lawn, wafting with the scent of peaches and apricots, that leads to your door. 

But I don't need to see these things to recreate the contentment I felt gazing down at your beautiful face. Those moments filled with joy and laughter - and the even more exceptional ones - capturing the wonderment of desire, a sigh before a kiss. 

Those are the things that will stay with me forever. (I had promised myself not to get too sentimental, for those memories are, too, a palpable reminder that bliss can be fleeting). 

So to remember those moments fondly, without heartache or sorrow is what I'm trying to do - but in my place it is not so easily done.  
___ 

This letter is becoming much longer and far more personal than I'd ever intended, but dear Elio, that is what you bring out in me.

I know I've said that I've never felt this way before, and this has never been more true. 

But what I've not said, but know deep in my heart, is that this river stepped in once, is so ever changing, that I may never feel as strongly or as deeply about anyone or anything ever again.  
___

I have to wind this up now before I do something crazy and package myself up and mail the whole damned thing back to Italy. 

I know you'd like that - and I would too if it were possible - but we both have to grow up more for that to happen - not physically but dealing with our emotional selves is going to take time.

I hope you and your parents are doing well. Please tell them, I think of them often. 

And you. 

I think of you the most often of them all. 

And yes .. Love, 

Oliver

PS: this may take a little longer to get to you, as I've included my pen and what was once a letter, has now become a package. ♡  
___  
_______  
___

📬 FIN - Letters 9

___  
_____


	10. Letters to Oliver - Part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.

Letters to Oliver - 10   
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

These are his letters to Oliver.  
_____  
___

✏ Letters to Oliver - 10  
\- December 1983  
___  
_____

Dear Oliver

Your letter along with the package you've sent has been dispatched to my door.

Another wonderful surprise on a day when the winds blow freely, conjuring up memories of summer breezes that has your shirt billowing around you - the one that I now wear as I write - that has lost your scent but still relays your warmth to wrap about my body.

Sleeves too long and tails that hang low enough that, if I close my eyes, I can imagine you brushing your fingertips across my thigh, down my leg to wrap around my ankle. 

I still feel those incredible sensations from that memorable day when you pressed deeply into my foot before bringing it to your lips.

And if we had only known [right then], what was to become of our midnight, it might have taken a far different turn and I might have moved my foot onto your lap and pressed it there.

The place where earlier, I felt you harden in my hand. 

And would you then have been offended?

That if twice in almost as many hours I had felt you throb against me - knowing that you wanted me - because it was obvious you did.

And I couldn't have helped but known it then.

Had that certainty.

And you would have been certain too - certain enough to let me.  
___

I hold your letter in near embrace, mindful of its fragility, as I wield the opener along one edge, carefully removing the overflap from the envelope, unveiling the letter itself. 

Freeing it from it's garment as I had once freed you - unbuttoning your shirt, sliding it off strong shoulders, peeling it away from your body.

And now revealing it's exquisite papeterie in a ceremonial unfolding of that other-worldly part of you.

[ This same papeterie that now sits in complete dishabille, as I am now ].  
___

And my joy of having you here is made so much more intense by discovering all the treasures you've packaged for me - where I will soon place them on my bed to unwrap - to puzzle over, examining those cryptic fragments that when combined, need to be studied, fidgeted with, until the image comes together, and I can see the whole of you.

The cassettes you've included in the package cannot be listened to until that puzzle is complete. And only then can they be truly savored, in a way that I can hear them as you intended.

Because I want to hear them the way YOU do.   
___

Those songs, much like your letters - have me taking in every word, every lyric - so that within these moments, I travel back in time to my old room, the twinned beds and those mornings waking up in your arms. 

They have me feeling like we're back together again, so when I'm finally able play the songs you've sent, I will close my eyes and dream of you.   
___

Then there is your pen - the cheap one, all chewed up with the top that no longer stays on. 

I will cherish that most of all. 

Where holding it over the page, I will carefully trace each letter, each word. And knowing you held this pen as you wrote down YOUR thoughts, is something more precious than anything I could have sent you.

That same pen that when pressed so deeply into the paper, has me immediately writing your words right back to me. 

As if I were you and you were I. 

The way we were that night in my room.

The night we became each other.  
___

And I will write my own words to you using that very same pen, where you will read them back as your own - and because we are connected that way, our words will become of the other. 

My dearest Oliver, I have so much to tell you, so many more words to write - although they quite pale to the real thing - and if you sense some desperation seeping in - it is only because I miss you so much.  
___

This pen with its gnawed end, has also inspired me to hold it up - inspecting the chewed places your mouth, your teeth bit into - where I now move those same places to my own mouth, caress it with my own tongue, use my teeth to imprint my marks over yours.

Rubbing that part against my cheek, my spit mingling with what once was you. 

And I want to rub it elsewhere, everywhere, and in private places.

And I'd like to think of you doing the same with mine. 

[ Writing, pressing, examining, rubbing - private places and all. ]   
___

And Oliver, I'll have you know, that this small gift, of seeming inconsequence, has become so large in my heart. 

These feelings I have, cannot be dismissed, or made light of - and that anticipatorily craving I get whenever the postman has delivered a letter from your part of the world, is what helps me get through each day until we can be together again.  
___

I will open the cassette cases now, read the note on the one you've created especially for me while I listen to the other's. 

But this one of yours will take some study - examining the titles, the order - and finally having that part of you revealed to me - only then will I place you into my player, into my heart, and into my very being.

Good night dear Oliver,

Until tomorrow,

Love, Elio  
_____

✏ FIN - Letters 10  
_____


	11. Letters to Oliver - Part 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series .. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.

Letters to Oliver - 11   
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏  
_____

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series .. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

These are his letters to Oliver.  
_____  
___

✏ Letters to Oliver - 11  
\- December 1983  
___  
_____

Elio, Elio, Elio

I love that we did this, call each other by our own names. Can you hear me calling you now? I hear you every night, almost every night - and when I don't, I do my best to imagine you here with me. 

So I call out to you - and because you're not here right now, I have to hope you're doing the same. But I know that you are - I can hear you in my dreams.  
___

I want you here in this room, and I know that if I could only speak to you, you would fly all the way over here, and then I could play your cassettes for the two us. 

Because I listened to them - and they were wonderful! 

I've been so excited by your letter, and your package, that I completely glossed over your text. What you said. How you are moving into a house, which is exciting. And now you will have a place - maybe we will have a place. 

I'm going to love living near you. We can watch the seasons pass in your backyard. 

And on summer days I can cover your body as we lie in the sun, and if it gets too hot, we can pull off your shirt - and mine too - and I can lay my hand to your chest, feel your heart beating - feel you wanting me as I side lower - yes Oliver, I can feel you in my hand right now [ or is it me in my own palm? - I don't know anymore ]. 

And I can't wait until fall. On cool evenings we can start a fire - please tell me you'll have a fireplace - I need to erase those sad images and picture us with blankets around - hands wandering, lips and mouths too, kissing in the firelight. 

All those wonderful moments to share together - and then there's winter.  
___

I still hope you can make it for Christmas. It's beautiful here.

Snow falling lightly on the ground, covering the orchards, the river, the berm. Crunching softly beneath my feet, interrupting the hushed silence that really isn't, because you're in my head everywhere I go.

And I still want to show you so many things. Take you places we haven't been before. 

I remember my father recounting his own childhood, of crisp winters when the ground was blanketed, of breath that misted out in front of him, of falling into that soft white and of angels made in the snow - I would like to do that with you.  
___

You said last summer in your note, to grow up, and I believe I have. I'd hate to think that it was my youth that sent you away. And because you didn't see me as I saw you, that somehow that would have made a difference.

The thing is, as my father so wisely told me, what we have is rare. And I believe him. And nobody will ever convince me that it was just something of my youth. That I was too young to know what I - correction WE - were doing. 

A part of me still thinks I should have done more to keep you here. 

And to not believe you when you told my mother you were going home to pack, because they were just words. And because you didn't. 

So please don't give me meaningless promises, that just tease, and hurt. 

Say you're coming for Christmas and mean it - because the thought of you packaging yourself up to send to me is something I wish for every day. 

It's what I live for. 

I love you Oliver. That hasn't changed in any way. I don't believe anything will ever change that.  
___

Sleep well and dream of me, 

Love, Elio

ps: If you come for Christmas, I'll play you something new on the piano, then I'd love to go play with you in the snow.  
_____  
_____

✏ FIN - Letters 11  
_____

NOTE: I like to think the headphones Elio wears at the beginning of the phone call scene are playing the mixtape Oliver sent him. That he's listening to Oliver's gift to him as he waits for him to call.  
_____


	12. Letters to Oliver - Part 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series .. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States.

Letters to Oliver - 12 conclusion  
LOVE, ELIO SERIES✏

NOTE: This series is independent of all my other series .. It follows the premise that Elio maintains contact with Oliver after he leaves Italy, blind to the fact that Oliver may have a very different life back in the States. 

This is Elio's last letter to Oliver.  
_____  
___

✏ 

Dear Oliver,

I hope this finds you well.  
___

Fuck!   
___  
___

✏

Dear Oliver,

I can't live without you.  
___

FUCK!  
___  
___

✏

Dear Oliver,

Why haven't you written?  
___

FUUUCK!  
_____  
_____

✏

December 1983

Dearest Oliver,

This letter may never reach you - but still I feel compelled to put my thoughts down on paper.

It's been a very tough week - as has been every week since I stood at the station watching the train whisk you away. 

So as I look about my room, trying to overcome any pervasive desolation I've felt since getting your news - posters on the wall, books piled high on my desk, and one lonely pillow on my bed - I find they all amplify the need to crawl in and never leave.   
___

Because you didn't write.

You didn't say you were coming.

There was no message within any correspondence to *please give this to Elio*.

But telephone call to my father, stating it was impossible [your word], to travel abroad at this time.  
___

I'm trying hard to compose this letter to you, when my world has never felt this upside down. And in picking up your letters, along with the notes sent to my father, I find my heart breaking just a little bit more than it already has. 

I miss you terribly and I can only hope that you've been missing me as well.

That there are nights when the moon shines through your window and you know that I am looking up at that same moon. 

And that the cold breezes that freeze your puddles into mini skating rinks, are the same ones here that have branches swaying along the pine alleys so close to our summer home.

But that's what the changing of the seasons brings - something I've grown to dread.

Because I want it to remain summer. 

Only summer. 

Our summer.  
___

I still play the music you sent me - but I listen now with added apprehension of something you may not have told me - something you've been keeping secret.

I hope that's not the case, but this feeling does not leave. 

It does not go away.  
___

My father said you would call over the holidays . 

That one evening very soon, the phone would ring and it would be you on the other end of the line. 

That I would hear your voice again.  
___

I hope you keep this promise. 

I hope you will not forget.  
___

We will be travelling tomorrow. 

And then I will be back in my old room where I will have shoved the beds together - waiting not so patiently for you to appear. 

And I can imagine seeing you there quite often - the tails of your shirt flapping as you move from one room to the next in this other-worldly game of hide and seek.

My hands clutching with anticipation of catching hold as you glide past - of reeling you into my embrace - and of billowy wrapped around the two of us .. and of your body warm against mine.

Good night, dear Oliver, 

The next time you hear from me, I will be back in the villa, waiting for you to appear.

And it won't be a dream this time. 

I will be in our room, on our bed, surrounded by you.

Until tomorrow,

Love, Elio

___  
___

✏

Dear Oliver,

We've finally arrived at the villa. 

And I say finally, because it seemed the longest trip just getting back here. 

My beds are no longer apart and I think I've seen you here already.

I'm sure you've stuck your head in to watch as I unpack. 

And when I dream on your pillow this first night home, I will be able to feel your hands move over me as my hands will move over you. 

And more. So much more.  
___

I can't wait to hear your voice - and that will be the best present of all. 

I've so much to tell you Oliver!

And speaking to you again will make this other you so much more real.

So I will once again remember the sensation of your lips brushing mine, my lips brushing yours.

And I hope these feelings will travel through the phone lines, across the miles, so that you can then feel me wanting YOU.

I also can't wait for evening, as the lights from the house make the frosted orchards that little bit more magical - and I can then dream of lying in the snow making angels with you.

But Mafalda is busy cooking and I think I will go out for awhile, because   
it's not yet time to get into bed - waiting for you to appear.  
___  
___

✏

My Dearest Oliver,

I want to start off this way, even though I don't want to. I want to put down different words, because I don't feel you are my dearest anymore. 

I want to say you lied to me. Led me on - Mafalda's words. 

And yes I feel that way - the lying part.

I want to tell you that I feel like we have died. You have died.

And it's not just the physical you, but that other you who lives here in this house. 

In my room.

Because he's gone too. 

And for the longest time, he was all I had.

He was all I was looking forward to. And now with just one phone call, you have taken him from me. 

And all those wonderfully wise words my father has intoned, have not prepared me for this.

Nothing could have prepared me.  
___

But it was Mafalda who has since said the most - she's not in love with you like the rest of us. 

She sat me down after dinner with a favorite treat to console me with things I didn't want to hear - and some I did.

She told me, I deserve better. 

But I know in my heart you didn't want to hurt - although telling me that way, you did. 

She said it was callous and thoughtless. She told me how much she loves me and that you couldn't have felt the same to do that on purpose. 

I don't believe it all. I know that you loved me. I can't be wrong about that.

She said that just because I gave my heart to you, it doesn't mean you felt the same.

But she's wrong there too. 

She doesn't know us. 

Didn't see of us, any other than what we let her see.

She said often there's one that loves more. One who is more invested and I guess that was true.

She said it was written all over my face every time I spoke of you, and I must admit, after I got over returning from Bergamo - Clusone - I spoke of you a lot.

I felt like a parrot saying shit like, Olivers says this and Oliver says that. And no Oliver wouldn't have done it that way.

But Oliver did. 

YOU DID. 

I'm never sending you this. I'm too angry - at myself mostly - and a little bit at you. 

A lot at you. 

I had - and still have - no interest in how your father isn't as understanding or accepting as mine. ( You're a grown man for fucks sake! ) I don't get how he can still control you. When you were here, you didn't give a fuck what people thought. 

You left me thinking you were the strong one but now I have to be strong to get past this all encompassing fog I've been under. 

There maybe a time - many years off - when I will look back on this with an eye for the experience instead of internalizing the hurt - maybe when I have moved away from here .. away from that other you that haunts my memories. 

And I hope that I will find those wonderful experiences you speak of.

Your salad days.   
___

My day will come, that's what you've always said, and I know what you have given me will only inform what I make of the world - and what the world makes of me. 

I want you to know that when I play, wherever I play, I will play for you.

With every keystroke, every strike, every caress - I will remember you - my fingertips trailing over your skin - and the way you felt at midnight.

And with this I will measure the joy you have given me. 

Because, yes we were joyful, we were happy and most of all we were good.

___

And your laugh. 

I have always loved your laugh - at my expense or not - it's the part of you that still rings through these walls and I don't think I'll ever walk past a room where I don't hear your laughter. 

And that's what I want remember. 

Not this.

Not the hurt.

Not now.  
_

And dear Oliver, I can't say it any other way, but

Love, Elio

__  
___

✏ FIN SERIES  
___  
___


End file.
